Beauty and the Beast, In Snippets of Reality
by Auvrea Rose
Summary: A series of Rumbelle one-shots I just had to write. Gold discovers Regina's lies and things just kind roll from there. There's a lot of RumBelle sweetness, but with some darker pieces too  because otherwise they're just not them
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Ok, instead of writing a long, involved, novel length fiction that I'll probably never actually finish, I decided to go with a series of one shots on this one. Because honestly, Rumbelle is just too amazing and inspirational to ignore. And deserves so much more fluff! Though be warned they won't all be so fluffy._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Once Upon A Time, Disney, ABC, or the wonderful Mr. Carlyle and Ms. De Ravine. _

_Reviews are love!_

Mr. Gold flinched with every step he took. The tap-tap of his cane on the slate sidewalk was more irritating than usual today. Don't get him wrong, there were many things Rumpelstiltskin enjoyed about being Mr. Gold- the large house, the hdtv that took up an entire wall, microwaves, his beautiful, black leather interiored car. But then there were the things he detested about being 'human'- the fact that he could feel his magic dancing at the edges of his consciousness, tickling his fingertips, yet not being able to use more of it than it took to say, immobilize a large man long enough to duct tape his hands and feet together.

And he hated his limp. That much-hated, long lost reminder of the coward he really was, that shot pains through his body when the weather turned damp, and prevented him from walking even a few feet without his walking stick. The stick that he thought he'd given up forever, so long ago. One of the few perks of being The Dark One.

But here in Storybrooke he couldn't summon the strength of magic to heal his hobbled knee, and the tap-tap was a constant reminder. Absently tossing the bangs of his shoulder-length straight hair out of his eyes, a flash of black suit out of the corner of his eye sent his mood spiraling even darker. He did not have the patience to deal with The Evil Queen today, he really did not. It had been a mere two days since he had beaten Moe French to within an inch of his life and found himself back behind bars. _Again._

Although it wasn't like he'd been there long. It had taken him less than an hour to call in a favor or two and sidle out of the sheriff's station without even a wrinkle in his suit, clutching a chipped teacup as though it held the answers to life itself.

_And here_, he thought, _we get to the crux of the matter_. That damned chipped cup. He'd managed to ignore it for exactly four months, five days, and 7 hours when it had been taken from him. He'd thought he was getting better at dealing with Belle's (he forced himself to think it) death- he'd had 28 years to work on it after all. But his rage at discovering the cup's disappearance- it was like no time had passed at all, the wounds on his heart still has fresh and hemorrhaging as they were when Regina's oily voice first imparted the fateful news.

He didn't know if he could handle hearing that voice again right now. Not that she ever cared what anyone else wanted, for here she was now, slowing to a stop a foot from him where he had paused beside Granny's Diner.

"Mr. Gold" she began, the tones of her voice dripping with barely concealed poison. "Recovering nicely from your jail stay?"

The pearly whites of her teeth as her lips curled back in a cruel smile reminded him of a shark. Still- he was a monster in his own right, and no shark would see his composure shake.

"Quite nicely, thank you. If anything, a few hours of peace and quiet after my…workout…were quite welcome."

If her teeth were a sharks', his were daggers. If her voice dripped honeyed poison, his spat stinging venom. Normally he could scrape up at least a little bit of disdainful amusement from their little banters, but today he just wanted her to _go away._ Before he strangled her himself, breaking the curse be damned.

Regina's smile faded a bit at his glib response. His ability to keep his cool always had rattled the hell out of her. Gold bit back a smirk- ok, maybe there was a faint trace of amusement to be had. And he did so love the look on her face when he said _please_.

But he was also tired, and his knee was throbbing, and he wanted this conversation to be over with so he could go home and wallow in his sorrows, in his empty heart and chipped cup. Because in a strange way that's what she'd _told_ him to do and by now he was clutching every single thing he had left of her, everything she said and done and looked like and oh gods, tasted like! as close to him as he possibly could and it was one of the few things he could actually do.

Without moving towards the Evil Bitch an inch, he pushed his power out to shove against hers, his brown eyes narrowing into a threatening glare that had made more than one royal quiver in their boots.

"I'm not in the mood today Regina. You've had your fun, and you're bloody curse is still intact. Everyone is fucking miserable except you. But by the gods I swear if you _ever_ touch that cup again, I will slit your throat myself. Don't ever steal any of my things again…please." His smirk was definitely more of a snarl now.

Regina's eyes had widened with shock and her throat had jumped with an almost imperceptible gulp at the wrath in every line of his face. But she wasn't one to back down easily either, and her nature demanded a parting shot as she turned to walk away.

"I still don't see what's so important about a damned chipped cup. It's just a piece of junk. She's _dead_ Gold, and even you can't ever bring her back."

Her smile was full of absolute glee as his back straightened with shock, her words hitting him like a knife in his gut. He knew that she knew what tortured him the most, the exact words to use to extract the most pain. He knew she was dead, damn it! The knowledge had been on a constant, agonizing loop in his mind for over 28 years. Regina felt him grab for his power only to have to dance out of his grip and chuckled just a bit as she sauntered towards her office. He was powerless against her here. And oh, how she relished it!

Gold glared at her back, still trying to grab enough power to send a lightning bolt through her heart, or summon an anvil to drop on her head, or give her a broken back, or a fucking twisted ankle- anything! But it was no use; her power was still too strong.

Later he would admit to himself, but never aloud, that he nearly jumped out of his perfectly tailored suit when Emma Swann's voice cut into his thoughts. She was standing right by the diner door, for gods knew how long, and he hadn't even noticed! Maybe he really was getting old. He couldn't remember the last time someone had snuck up on him successfully.

"She was lying you know," she said, with an absolute certainty that made him raise a brow at her. She tugged a golden lock of hair out of her face and slurped at her hot chocolate.

"What do you mean?" Old he may be getting, but his mind was still as sharp as ever. Sharp enough to know when to listen anyway. He knew who Emma was, and he knew that she had magic. And he may have overheard Henry talking about her 'superpower'. Smart boy, that one.

"When she said 'she's dead Gold, and even you can't ever bring her back'. She was lying through her goddamn teeth. I don't know who she was talking about, but whoever she is, she's alive."

To say those were the last words Gold had expected to hear would have been the understatement of the century, of the goddamn millennia. They penetrated his brain and kind of rattled around in an incomprehensible numbness. He had dreamed of such similar words for so long- to hear that she was still alive, that she had been resurrected by the curse, that she had escaped from the tower in the first place (without jumping from it)- that to actually hear them in waking hours was…dumbfounding. In a daze he realized that his walking stick had clattered to the ground and she was holding it out to him with such sincere concern on her face he could've laughed. To think there were still such good people in the world. Still, he had to hear the words again, to make sure he wasn't dreaming them.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a strangled voice.

It was her turn to raise a brow at him. "Of course I'm sure. I always know when someone's lying. Especially her."

The gears whirred in Gold's mind. She wasn't dead. Belle wasn't dead. Belle _wasn't fucking dead_. Regina had obviously locked her away somewhere, and he had to find her. Oh gods, he'd left her for all that time- to suffer who knew what. He'd never even looked for her, so caught up was he in feeling how much he deserved the pain of her death, for casting her away. He had to find her, had to free her. He made a decision.

"Sheriff Swann, I'm finally calling in that favor you owe me." His voice was now steel, it brooked no room for argument or dissention. Luckily Emma Swann wasn't in an arguing mood. She hated owing favors, and she'd been waiting for him to cash his in for a long time. Besides, she had a feeling she'd be helping a good cause. At the very least it would piss off Regina, and anything that pissed her off had to be good.

"It's about damn time," she said, lips curling into a Cheshire Cat grin. "What do you want me to do?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Ok, I was gonna wait at least a couple of days to post this, but so many of you wonderful people subscribed to this in such a short time I just had to reward you somehow. _

_Many thanks to Artemis Samhain, the only one to write an actual review thus far- I love you for it!_

_Also, like I said, this is going to be a series of one shots and I have no idea how many. If you have any prompts you'd like me to write, I definitely take requests! So far these all go in chronological order, but I'm not sticking to that on purpose. _

_Usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing. Reviews are love and get me updating faster!_

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><p>A year later, Gold was in his shop, clever fingers mindlessly polishing a relic of something-or-other from the land that nobody else remembered. Times like these, he missed his spinning wheel. He may not have been able to spin gold on it here, but it sure did help to pass the time. And she had so loved to watch him spin the wheel.<p>

He glanced at the clock for the 10th time in one hour. 12:55. Only 5 more minutes now. He took a deep breath through his sharp nostrils and tried to force his heart to slow its tattoo in his chest. He rubbed at the spot absentmindedly. He was still getting re-acquainted with the feeling of anticipation. He glanced at the clock again. 3 more minutes.

After what felt like an eternity of 3 minutes (he was beginning to wonder if time had stopped again, the tricksy bastard), the bell above his shop door jingled and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He didn't know why he'd been so nervous- she hadn't missed a day since this strange ritual had started. He carefully placed the whatever-it-was on the table in front of him and grabbed his walking stick to make his way into the front of his crammed little store.

The second he saw her, the butterflies he was also slowly becoming accustomed to began to flutter wildly in the vicinity of his stomach. Belle.

She was still so beautiful. Her long chestnut hair glinted with red-gold highlights in the stream of sunlight coming in through the window; loose curls tumbling wildly down her back. She wore a sundress today, in his favorite colour blue (a familiar color blue that brought visions of bodices and castles and roses and falling curtains to mind). The gold of her skin sparkled against the cerulean fabric and he had to clench his fingers round his stick to keep himself from reaching out to test if it was as soft and warm as it looked.

Her interest had been sparked by some random knick-knack, as was usual, and she was examining it intently. This time it was a broken clock that had rather large teeth marks round it. He smirked. She always did have a talent for picking the most interesting of pieces. He remembered cutting open a large, scaly stomach, the snag of crocodile scales against his knife, in order to get his hands on that clock. He never had bothered to figure out who the skeleton with a hook for a hand was that had been curled around it.

"That clock has a long and interesting tale, dearie," he said, a lilting tease in his voice that betrayed exactly how well he knew he was sparking her never-ending thirst for stories. He will not admit he loves telling them to her as much as she loves hearing them.

She spun around to face him, and the smile on her face nearly blinded him. She was all sunshine and roses and all the things good and bright in all the worlds, and she was smiling like that at _him_. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his own face.

Even after all she'd been through- being thrown away by the one person that should have loved and protected her the most (in a thousand years, he'd never forgive himself), imprisoned in the Queen's tower and tortured for months, only to be shut away in a mental asylum and fed mind-fogging drugs so powerful they wouldn't put schizophrenics on them, for 28 years- and she could still smile. Like that. At him. Brave and strong didn't even begin to cover his Belle.

It hadn't always been like this of course. At first, he had feared she really had gone mad. After her first mad dash at him when he had shown up outside her cell door, the first time he had ever really felt a semblance of being a knight in shining armour, when her sky blue eyes had widened in disbelief and (he could've sworn) joy at his appearance, and she had thrown her arms around him so strongly and held him so tightly that he nearly fell over, he had walked her out of the hospital and left her briefly in the care of the newly un-debted Emma Swann to get her a blanket and a warm drink. When he returned it was though she had built up a fortress of stone walls around herself.

She would not speak to him nor look at him and stayed huddled against the Sheriff's side. He'd swallowed the hurt as best he could- it was no less than he deserved, after all.

Emma and Mary-Margaret let her stay in the smallest bedroom of their house, and at first she rarely emerged from that room. She wouldn't talk to anyone, she wouldn't come out of her room longer than it took to eat dinner and take a shower, and she certainly did not step one foot inside of Gold's Pawnshop.

Little by little though, she began to venture forth into the world again. Maybe she was tired of Emma and Mary Margaret needling her about how she needed to get out or maybe she just finally felt safe enough to wander around alone without fear of being hauled back into a tiny, dark room. After 4 months she spent far more time outside than in, reading books by the stack in the park or at Granny's Diner, soaking up the sun and relishing in the feel of the breeze on her skin. It was the little things about freedom that captivity made you savor.

6 months after her rescue, the bell above Mr. Gold's shop had jingled at precisely 1 pm for the first time. She had glided in in a whirl of green skirts, auburn curls, and shimmering blue eyes, clutching a book to her chest, a picnic basket dangling off of one slender golden arm.

His heart had constricted in his chest like there was a snake wrapped around it and he could barely breathe for the sight of her. Belle, his Belle. Oh how he longed to rush to her, take her in his arms and never let her go, press his lips to hers and damn the consequences. But he restrained himself. She didn't really remember who he was- more likely something in the window had caught her eye. She always had been so curious. And he didn't deserve her anyway.

But his walls and reserve had never stood a chance against her in the first place, and they'd only gotten weaker over the years. She had sailed over to him, immediately demanding the story to a certain Agraban lamp, and he had been powerless to deny her. He even told her its _true_ story, drinking in the way her blue eyes stared at him seemingly enthralled, the way she would bite ever so gently at the plump fullness of her red bottom lip in suspense, the way her whole body language just sparkled at him like he was the sun and she was soaking him up. For a few moments, it felt as though no time had passed at all, and he was surprised to find no spinning wheel under his fingertips and no gold-green shine to his skin as he spun her the tale. He was surprised and giddily delighted to find her name had not changed- he couldn't fathom calling her anything but Belle.

Every day after that, at exactly 1 pm, she would come through the door as though on a carpet of rose petals, exploring his shop and demanding stories, chatting over cups of tea. At some point she started bringing her baking experiments with her. He particularly loved her blueberry muffins, and had even cheerfully devoured her abysmal failure at pound cake simply because she'd made it for him, though she never said so.

And so the routine was born, and there was now an hour of sunshine in his day to look forward to as she took her lunch break from working at the library. There were times, glorious, teasing times that he was _sure_ she remembered everything, that she knew who he really was. But he was too much of a coward to find out for sure. He didn't know if he could take it if she didn't.

Something about today though, felt different. She didn't jump at his bait for a story. Instead, her dazzling smile faded into something soft and warm as she gazed at him. Heat sparked in his veins. He remembered that look. It was the one she'd had in her eye before their first, and only, kiss. His heart thudded in his chest.

"I'm sure it does," she said softly, her voice as light and sweet as the first birdsong of spring, her lilting accent sending shivers down his spine that he desperately suppressed. "And you shall tell it to me another day. Today, I don't want stories about far off kingdoms and curses and princes. It's absolutely beautiful outside and I want to go for a walk with you."

Her eyes glittered up at him hopefully and he found himself opening the door for her and flipping his shop sign to 'Closed' before he'd fully registered what was happening. As they set off down the street towards the park, she looped her arm through his as natural as could be and he couldn't have wiped the grin off his face if he'd tried.

Later he found himself standing on a dirt path in the woods, surrounded by green and flowers and ignoring every bit of it because none of it could ever compare to the loveliness that was Belle showered in dappled sunlight, with that contented curl to her lips, and happy shine in her eyes, and clinging to his arm like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away in joy. He stared at her, deep brown eyes full of wonder and love and fire. She turned to him and he didn't manage to shift his glace quickly enough for her not to catch.

He smirked at her, his default expression, shoving down the panic rising in his chest as visions of her glaring in disgust at the old, crippled man that dared to stare at her in such a way flashed in front of his eyes.

But Belle was a master of the unexpected, and she only smiled that soft, warm smile with those rose red lips at him once more.

"Once upon a time," she whispered, staring up at him, eyes blue oceans he was drowning in. "I dreamed every night of seeing that look on your face."

His eyes widened with shock. Did she mean what he thought she meant? Was she talking about…back then? Or just the recent past?

"And now?" he whispered back, nerves and her closeness making his brogue thick and deep. Distantly, he noticed her shiver and clenched her against his side a little tighter, for fear she was chilly.

She took a deep breath and he watched as she made a decision, squared her shoulders. He watched her fill to the brim with determination and resolve and felt nothing but awe at this amazing woman gazing up at the face of a man feared all over town and throughout several more kingdoms with something he could swear was akin to adoration.

"Now I dream of many different kinds of wonderful looks from you, Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed, lifting a finger that proved she was exactly as soft as he'd imagined as it ran lovingly down his cheek.

All the air whooshed out of his lungs at once and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. But in the best way possible. She _remembered_! She remembered _him._ And against all odds, it seemed she still wanted him. A resolve he didn't know he was holding onto snapped. He grabbed her upper arms, twirling her to face him, pulling her flush against him so that her chest pressed firmly against his own.

"You remember?" he demanded, suddenly ravenous to hear the words. He didn't think he could live for one more minute without knowing for certain. If there was even a chance….

Her smile was self-satisfied and sudden. "I remember everything," she breathed. "And I forgive you. And I still love you."

Her face was so close now he could feel the warm moistness of her breath ghosting over his lips. Had he leaned down towards her or had she stretched up towards him?

"Belle" was the only word he managed to form before he cheerfully waved goodbye to the last of his self-control and closed the last hairsbreadth of distance between them.

Her lips were as sweet and intoxicating as he remembered, and she still tasted like strawberries, though there was a smoky hint at play now too. Her soft, plump lips pressed against his and her arms twined around his neck. She sighed into his mouth with utter contentment, pressing herself against him as close as she could.

His tongue swept ever so gently across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him immediately, a wanton moan she didn't know she could sound escaping her lips.

He slipped inside her mouth instantly, tracing every ridge and bit of velvet warmth with a thoroughly skilled and curling tongue. All at once their kiss was anything but slow, anything but gentle, anything but hesitant. It was passionate and powerful, the world around them fell away, and shooting stars went off behind Belle's eyelids like fireworks as he clutched her more tightly, one arm wrapping around her waist, one hand burying itself in her tresses.

She hung onto him for all she was worth as her knees threatened to give from pleasure. He tasted like whiskey and tea and magic and it lit fire in her veins. His scent invaded her nose, twining around her senses, full of the wet musk of dark soil, the ancient crispness of old paper, and the sharp tang of power and it made heat like lava pool low in her belly.

It was better than she remembered, better than anything her dreams could conjure. It was worth the heartbreak and the torture and the never-ending, agonizing _waiting_.

His lips slanted against hers as if they'd been molded for hers, and when she couldn't resist looking at his face to make sure that this was real a second longer, she saw that he was as lost in their kiss as it was possible for a person to be. Her eyes fluttered shut again and she let the moment sweep her away to the place where only the two of them existed.

'_This is what True Love is supposed to be like_,' Belle thought in a haze of heat and magic and _him_ before the last of her thinking fled altogether. '_You know, the books don't really do it justice_.'

And then he made the most delicious little growl as she sucked gently on his lower lip and ran her fingers through the dark silky hair threaded with silver that she'd been dying to touch for ages now. The sound vibrated straight through her being, her toes curled against her sandals, and she thought nothing else coherent until the sun dappling their skin through the leaves had long sunk below the trees.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Alright, so some of you requested to know exactly what was going through Belle's mind all this time, so here it is. Belle has always been my absolute favorite of all the fairytale 'princesses', so I hope I captured her somewhat satisfactorily. Thank you to all you lovely people out there who have reviewed and favorited this story!_

_Usual Disclaimers apply: I own absolutely nothing. That is the sole pleasure of ABC and the Disney Corporation. The gods know that if I did own it, I'd surely be locked in a cabin somewhere with Mr. Carlyle, and not studying for college finals. _

_And without further ado: enjoy!_

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><p>Belle rather liked this world of Storybrooke, Maine. Not quite as much as the Other World of course. One can never truly love being in a place they know they don't belong, or living a life they knew someone evil had crafted for them.<p>

But still, there were some wonderful things in it nonetheless. Like Granny's hot chocolate with cinnamon, and jeans, and television. Oh, she loved the television! Books playing out right before her eyes, who could've imagined?

She loved the huge varieties of music and the thousands upon thousands of books begging to be read.

There were opportunities for a woman to show what she could do here. She certainly liked that. There were simply more social freedoms for women in this Land (minus the Evil Bitch's meddling of course) and now that she was no longer imprisoned in a tiny, dark cell she relished every one.

Yes, all in all Belle was the happiest she'd been in 28 years. She had good books, good friends, good food, a good job, and…Him of course.

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the thought and giggled at her own silliness. Technically she was almost 50 years old and here she was, blushing at the simple thought of a man.

Well, not just any man. Him…Gold…Rumplestiltskin. No matter his name, he made her feel giddy and happy and loved and safe. And horny, truth be told, but those were thoughts best left for the wee hours of the morning, in the solitude of her bed.

Belle hummed happily to herself as she shelved and categorized the books on the shelf before her. She'd been doing an inordinate amount of humming and singing recently. She blamed it on Henry and those "Disney" movies he'd insisted she borrow when he found out how delighted she was with TV. She had to admit she secretly adored them (her favorite had been Beauty and the Beast and she firmly maintained that there was nothing wrong whatsoever with loving a story based on one's self) and had ordered the entire collection on Amazon when Henry told her there were many more than the 5 he'd managed to sneak into Storybrooke under the Evil Bitch's nose.

She glanced at her watch (a delicate and ornate piece of craftsmanship, made of gleaming silver and etched with rose vines that He had given her for her birthday last week. Gods that man had taste!) and made no attempt whatsoever to hide her beaming smile.

Yes, it must be the Disney movies putting in her such a good mood. Nothing at all to do with the Daily Dose of Him (as she'd taken to calling it in her head) that she'd been getting for the past 6 months. Speaking of which, it was 12:50, which meant that she'd been on her lunch break for exactly 5 minutes now and she'd better get a move on if she wanted to fulfill the plans she had for her and Gold's daily lunch date. (Not that he knew they were dates. He called them their 'daily ritual' but she figured 'a rose by any other name' and all that.).

Still humming as bright as a spring day, she gathered her picnic basket of treats for today (she'd baked him blueberry muffins. She knew they were his favorite, and he deserved a reward for smiling through her pound cake, the sweet man) and strolled merrily out of the library and headed towards Gold's Pawnshop.

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><p>As she walked, her thoughts drifted back lazily to the night she'd been 'sprung', as Emma had put it.<p>

She'd been in that cell for 28 years and she'd known it the whole time, even when they loaded her with so many drugs she couldn't have walked a straight line with something to hold on to. She still didn't know why, but for whatever reason she remembered everything about who she really was and where she had come from. After a few years she'd realized that time was standing still here, but she kept counting the days anyway. Nevermind that they were all the same, it was a way to remind herself that she wasn't actually crazy.

All she'd had to keep her company in that room were her memories; the false ones that Regina planted, that haunted her at night and clawed at her brain in the day, and her real memories, which simultaneously soothed her and broke her heart. She'd kept herself alive and sane with those memories and images of her home world- The way the light shined into The Dark Castle for the first time, the smell of its rose gardens in early summer, the sound of her Papa's voice reading her bedtime stories as a child.

And always, always, she thought of Rumplestiltskin. Sitting at his wheel, spinning more gold than he could ever spend, grinning madly at her from behind a chipped teacup, the way his golden eyes had shone and blinked in the sunlight when she had torn his curtains down and he had caught her in arms that were surprisingly strong and warm. She couldn't have banished the memory of their one brief kiss, the exact way it had felt, if her life had depended on it.

But she also remembered his voice, so full of anger and coldness as he told her "my power means more to me than you". She didn't believe him, but it had still hurt. She remembered feeling truly afraid of him for the first time, as he shook her shoulders and accused her of betrayal and shattered her Happy Ending. She remembered how utterly miserable and lost and _heartbroken_ she was as she passed through the gates of his estate, hoping against hope that he would come after her, that he'd do the brave thing. But of course he hadn't. He'd banished her and left her to wander the wide world alone, without True Love. Without him. And in all the 28 years she'd been the Queen's prisoner he hadn't once come looking for her.

She'd tried not to think of those memories as much as possible, though they inevitably crept up on her some days.

When he had walked into her cell that incredible day, she'd thought at first that maybe she finally _had_ gone mad, and then second that if she had she didn't care because he was the most glorious thing she'd ever seen.

His clothes were strange and his skin was wrong, but it was _him _she knew for sure. And she couldn't stop herself from bounding into his arms, from wrapping herself as tightly around him as she could. She'd breathed him in, convincing herself that her mind wasn't simply playing tricks on her, that he had actually come to rescue her at long last.

She couldn't bear to let go of him for a second, for fear that he may disappear from her life again. She'd never been happier to see another living soul in her whole life.

But after he'd set her down next to Emma he went to go fetch her a blanket, shouting at some orderly who'd been blocking his way. And all of a sudden all she could hear were those awful words in that vicious voice from so long ago and realized that this was the first time she'd actually seen him since he'd done the cowardly thing.

And she just suddenly felt so _angry_ with him. How dare he throw her out of his castle, her home! How dare he leave her trapped, a prisoner, for 28 fucking years! He never once came to look for her! Never once tried to track her down or communicate with her! She'd offered him her heart on a golden platter and he'd smashed it under his boot like it was nothing. The most powerful being in the entire Land, possibly the world, and he couldn't even manage enough courage to believe she loved him! And oh, how she had suffered for that disbelief, for her love of him! Not the torture, but the knowledge that she had found him and loved him and been cast aside like a disobedient puppy.

She couldn't say she didn't still want him, couldn't say she didn't still love him. But now that he was actually here, in front of her, looking at her with deep brown eyes (she wished they were brandy and gold) full of regret and apologies, she suddenly wanted to _punish_ him for what he'd done to her, for how thoroughly he'd ruined their chance at real happiness.

And if Emma had asked, she would have admitted she was afraid. She was afraid of discovering that her love for him had not faded at all and that he would take it and grind it under his boot-heel once more.

So she'd put up those stone walls she'd perfected over the years, meant to save her from the Queens and monsters of the worlds, this time to keep her heart safe from him.

She moved in with Emma and Mary-Margaret and spent several months reading, coming out of her room to eat (she'd decided she didn't mind being confined if it was her _choice_) and basically letting herself get used to the idea of an outside world again. But soon enough, she longed to actually see the world and her took her first steps back into it.

She'd discovered Granny's cocoa and the Storybrooke library. She wandered the forest trails and soaked in the feeling of sunshine on her skin and the smell of a fresh breeze tickling her nose. Eventually she'd been offered a job at the library and one day realized she spent far more time outside than in.

She discovered that she enjoyed the freedom of living on her own. There was no one to tell her what to do or what to think. No one assigning her a uniform, no one making fun of the romance novels she devoured in secret, no one restricting her in any way. Slowly, but surely, she put herself back together.

But she'd always kept her ears and eyes open for any news or sight of Rumplestiltskin (she couldn't quite bring herself to think of him as Mr. Gold. Mr. Gold was simply another mask for him to hide behind).

She took her first cocoa of the day at precisely 7 am so she could glimpse him opening his shop. At least once a week she would turn longing blue eyes to Emma and have her recount everything she knew of his activities. She wanted to punish him, yes, but she couldn't help but be concerned for him and thirsty for news of him. Besides, she knew the punishment wouldn't last forever- he was her True Love and she would make her way back to him someday. When she was ready.

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><p>She'd realized she was 'ready' one fine autumn day when she'd decided to take her lunch to the park. She loved eating outside, how sometimes she could close her eyes and almost believe she was back home in The Dark Castle where she belonged. She had so enjoyed forcing Rumplestiltskin to take his tea in the gardens when the weather was particularly good. He pouted so adorably and exaggerated his distaste for the bright light so humorously. On one memorable occasion he had made her laugh so hard she snorted her tea and he had giggled madly at her red-faced embarrassment.<p>

She smiled to think of those memories. She missed those days. She missed him.

And as if he had heard her admission, he had appeared.

Well, she had noticed him standing by the pond, the sun flashing off the silver handle of his walking stick catching her eye. It was still strange, to see him walking with it. But in an odd way it was rather endearing too- for her at least, it made him seem more human.

She admired the fit of his obviously very well tailored suit, black of course (some things never changed). He wore this world's clothing style well, though she decided she fervently missed watching him strut around in the leather pants and high boots he favored in the Old Days. Just the thought of it sent shivers down her spine. How many times had she asked him to retrieve something for her just so she could watch him turn around and walk over to it? She couldn't remember.

The breeze ruffled his hair, glinting through the strands of silver hidden throughout. Belle realized her fingertips itched to run through it, to see if it was as soft as it looked, all straight like that.

Her heart clenched in her chest. Gods, how she missed him! She longed to go to him, to wrap herself up in his arms and breathe in that delicious scent of his. She was suddenly curious to know what he would say about the book she was currently reading. She was falling in love with Jane Eyre and her clever, surly love Mr. Rochester and she wondered if he had read it. She wondered what he knew about the curse, though knowing him he'd been the one to write it.

After a few more moments of positively staring, he caught her at it, turning towards her ever so slightly. He looked into her eyes and she saw the same longing and desire mirrored back at her from his deep brown orbs. Her breath caught and she flashed him a sunny smile, silently welcoming him out of exile from her presence, and it seemed to take him slightly aback. He returned a smile nervously, but sincerely and Belle felt warmth fill her down to her toes.

She'd been sure he was about to walk towards her then, but he only tipped his head slightly, still smiling that smile, and then walked back in the direction of his shop.

She'd decided then and there that the punishment was over. He obviously wasn't going to come to her, which she didn't fault him for given her avoidance of him for the last 6 months, so that meant that she would have to go to him. At lunchtime tomorrow, perhaps.

And so the next day she'd picked out one of her very favorite sun dresses (a green halter one with a full swinging skirt that she twirled in in front of her bedroom mirror), grabbed her slightly dog-eared copy of _Jane Eyre_ and hummed her way to work, nervous and excited about the lunch break to come.

She couldn't have imagined him looking more surprised if he'd tried, when she swept into his shop. But he'd covered it well, and soon enough she knew he adored her as much as he ever had and they'd talked the whole hour away. It was intoxicating to be in his presence again, to have him be so close to her. Once or twice she swore she actually felt dizzy.

She decided to wait a little while before revealing she still had all her memories.

She was curious to see how he would act toward her, not knowing if she knew. And he seemed more open in his uncertainty about it, more willing to share his stories and the stories of the odds-and-ends in his possession that she knew were more than they appeared. Plus, she found the way he looked when he was unsure and off-balance completely charming.

She figured she'd know when the time to tell him was right. She was more than content with getting to know him again, with re-igniting the fire he began in her all those years ago. She'd decided she would go have lunch with him again tomorrow, maybe even bring some of the cookies she'd suddenly been struck with the desire to bake. And so the Daily Dose of Him (or the Daily Ritual, depending on who you were talking to) began.

* * *

><p>And now Belle found herself happily strolling to his shop, having decided that today was The Big Day. She had picked out another favorite dress in honor of the occasion, one the exact shade of blue her dress had been at his Castle (she wondered if he'd notice).<p>

She was going to tell him that she remembered and she was going to get him to kiss her if it was the last thing she ever did. This time around, _he_ was going to be the one to kiss _her_ and they could finally, finally get started on that Happily Ever After her books had promised her as a child.

She slowed to a stop in front of his shop, automatically looking through the large windows for anything new that would spark her interest. Having finished studying a mountain of brick-a-brack she thought she may have spotted a famous slipper hiding in, she let her eyes settle on the man behind the counter, polishing cloth in his hand. Belle held back a giggle. He could be so fidgety, when he was nervous. Honestly, it was sweet.

He looked up at that moment, glancing at the clock on the wall for what she knew was probably the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes (he couldn't fool her with that nonchalant act anymore) and she found herself breathless once again.

He was so handsome. Maybe not many would see it, but she couldn't imagine anything better. He was slighter than some men, but so surprisingly strong, and he was still tall enough that she could lay her head on his shoulder (she'd found that out on another memorable lunchtime. She'd thought he was going to have a heart attack from shock.) His fingers were long, quick and clever, and she could imagine them dancing along her skin.

He had this wicked grin that he shot her sometimes and her bones would turn to water. And she did so love his hair. Wavy, straight, it didn't matter, she loved the way it hung around his face and the way he'd flick it out of his eyes. It simply begged to be caressed, to be tugged and played with.

Yes, today was definitely The Day. Giving herself one last look-over with her reflection in the glass, she pulled open the door.

* * *

><p>Later that night, curled up in his arms, feeling safer, warmer, and happier than she could ever remember, Belle decided that Happily Ever Afters really began with the sound of a bell jingling above a shop door.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I'm also considering writing a story about the first time Belle watches the animated Beauty and the Beast. Good idea? Bad idea? Let me know your opinion!<em>

_-Much Love,_

_Auvrea Rose_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: This is the first chapter that isn't precisely in keeping with the rest of the story, though it still fits well enough. From here on out expect chapters to go back and forth a bit, because the next one will probably be Belle's first time watching Beauty and the Beast._

_Ok, honestly, I have no idea where this came from. I suppose I just figured that no matter how good things were in Storybrooke they'd never be exactly easy to deal with and Belle seems like the type who'd have a lot on her shoulders. So I gave her a stress reliever. To be honest, I'm a little nervous about this one lol. _

_Usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing. _

* * *

><p>Belle was stranger in this world than he'd anticipated. She had unexpected habits. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how he'd ever thought she'd be like everyone else- there was a streak of something different in her that couldn't be ignored or suppressed. Not that he tried to- it delighted him and he adored that about her. He was sure if she were any different she certainly wouldn't be able to love a beast like him.<p>

He chuckled to think of the adorable little wrinkle her nose would get if she caught him talking about himself as a Beast, her trademark look of light irritation. She wouldn't hear a word against him, not even from himself.

Not that she denied his darker side- she was all too aware of it. They'd had many long talks at the start of…whatever they were exactly (but not forgetting the all-important clarifier of True Love that now flashed triumphantly around the back of his mind).

She'd…let him off for his past mistakes easier than he'd expected. And for the most part it seemed that she'd simply filed all that into a box labeled Past in her head, jammed a lid firmly on top of it and then piled some old anvils on it for good measure.

They both knew that their new-found happiness was destined to be short-lived. The Final Battle was approaching sooner rather than later and the outcome was unknown even to Rumpelstiltskin. There were too many possibilities.

He shouldn't have been surprised that even when he was the happiest he'd ever been in his entire long life there was still the shade of an ominous cloud looming just on the horizon.

* * *

><p>But Belle had woken up one morning, much earlier than usual, and watched the sun rise from their bedroom, tucked high away in one of the turrets of his Victorian Monster as she liked to call it. (He knew she secretly loved the drama of it, and realized that that's why he'd made the house look like this when he'd written the curse. Because she would've liked it).<p>

He'd lain in bed watching her watch the sun, trying to draw in and memorize as much of her as he could (a habit born out of fear that this is always the last time he will get to see her like this. He knows it is unfounded now, but he likes the habit too much to break it- if he could look at only one thing ever again, it would be her.)

She had walked through the huge floor to ceiling French Doors that led out onto their private balcony (always open because she loved the space and the smell of the air so high and fresh and clean) and curled her small hand delicately along the wrought iron railing wrapped with the roses she insisted on growing there after she'd indulged in yet another Disney marathon. Gold hadn't thought he'd ever be jealous of a _railing_.

She just stood there, taking deep breaths, watching the sky turn the purple of Maleficent's dress (she hadn't really minded Maleficent, as evil faeries went), the pink of Snow White's blush when she thought of Charming (she thought it was the most perfect color pink and wondered if it was her color when she thought of Rum), the gold of thread spun from straw and eyes so large and so impossibly beautiful looking down at her from an imp's shining face, and then finally the sky lit up a bright blue. (He wanted to bottle because it was the color of her eyes).

And then she'd utterly bewildered him (how does she still do that?) when she marched determinedly to one of the flowerpots of roses and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

She took off the cellophane wrapping and pulled off the foil like it was second nature and discarded them carefully in the small trash bin they kept on the porch. She sank onto one of the chairs of their little patio set, put a cigarette to her lips, lit it, inhaled slowly for a brief moment, and then sprawled languidly in the chair, the very picture of satisfaction.

She took another drag, longer this time, and watched the smoke as it drifted slowly from between her lips and out over those green, green trees.

'_Belle….smokes…_' he'd thought to himself in amazement. '_We've been living together for 2 months and I'm just now finding out that she smokes? Bloody hell. Crafty, sneaky little vixen. '_ (he couldn't have suppressed the very Rumplistiltskin-like giggle of glee. Clever and sharp as anything, his Belle. He kind of loved that she might be a very wee bit better than him at his own game sometimes.).

He couldn't lay in bed any longer then, he'd been dying to talk to her, to wheedle and pry and learn about her, his favorite hobby. She doesn't seem to mind. She does it enough to him.

He'd stretched and made his way towards her, sitting gingerly in the chair opposite, careful of the knee that's always stiffer in the mornings. She'd looked at him and her eyes weren't dark and haunted like he'd expected them to be; but bright, and happy, and a bit wise.

She'd pushed the pack towards him and he'd found himself drawing one out and lighting it. He hadn't had a cigarette since the first five years in this hell hole.

Back then every stress relief he'd been able to think of had been tried vigorously. He'd quit when he tired of it, but taking a drag from Belle's offered stash he realized that he almost rather missed it. Excellent thinking tools, cigarettes.

"Since when?" he'd asked with simple curiosity. She could do whatever the hell she wanted as far as he was concerned and he'd only love her more for it, whatever it was.

"The hospital" she'd replied, lightly, no pain tarnishing the song of her voice. A part of him had swelled with happiness- it had been a long road to talking about her various incarcerations without tears.

"The nurse used to give them to me when I was 'behaving well.' The whole calming-effect thing." She'd paused, staring at wisps of smoke. "I know they're nasty and gross, but…well…they _are_ calming. And they help me think." Her voice had been bold and brassy, daring him to say a bad word about it.

But he'd only smirked and given her an understanding nod. Her lips had curled into a loving, grateful smile and if he'd been a cat he probably would have purred.

"I know this won't last forever," she'd said abruptly.

His eyes had shot to hers, wide with panic. Was she changing her mind? Leaving him? Had she finally had enough of the crippled old monster?

She'd sent him a soothing smile.

"I meant this peace, this happiness. I will always love you, but the Final Battle is coming. And I just want to enjoy NOW while it lasts. I don't want to worry about curses and witches and battles until I have to. I want to cherish these days with you, long and lazy and uninterrupted. We're going to make the most of this time, Rum," she declared absolutely and he couldn't think of a single reason to disagree with her.

(here in the Victorian Monster, in their tower, she would call him Rum and would talk about the world currently lost to them and they would be Belle and Rumplestiltskin for a little while)

Their fingers had intertwined together across the table, fitting together as perfectly as if they'd been crafted as puzzle pieces. If there was something closer to heaven than sitting with her like this, in perfect silence yet perfectly intertwined, Gold didn't want to know what it was.

* * *

><p>Every now and then he woke up to that sight- Belle sprawled languidly on their balcony, like a Cheshire Cat, smoke curling from her lips. If he was honest, the view was rather intoxicating. She enjoyed these moments of indulgence, of doing the wrong thing just because she <em>could<em>, when she _wanted_, and it did help soothe her nerves- and the contentment leaked into him and beckoned like a siren's call.

And he would roll out of bed and walk carefully, stiffly, out to greet her (he missed his magical powers most in the mornings).

She would smile as bright as the sun at him and slide the pack across the table to him with a flick of her finger. He rarely got to actually lighting one before she would be leaning across the table towards him, threading a hand into his hair and pulling his head towards her for a kiss (she swore it was her favorite thing in the world, kissing him, and who was he to deny her her pleasures?). He figured this was probably as close to Happily Ever After as he was going to get (though there was a flutter of hope in his chest when she looked at him) and by the gods he was not complaining.

* * *

><p><em>So there it is. What did you think? <em>


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